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I brought a folding chair onto the stage of the rehearsal hall because I wanted her to feel the music.
If I had taken her home and played it there, the magic would have been lost in the cramped space and limited acoustics.
She hasn’t said a word.
I finish packing my instrument back in its case, the entire time feeling Olivia’s eyes on me.
Once I’m done I motion for a stagehand to take it. He’ll carry it back to my office and lock it up.
It’s a treasured piece to me. It was given to me by one of my early music teachers. At the time I wasn’t tall enough to play it. I grew into it and its charm grew on me.
It’s not perfect by any means, but it fits me like a glove.
“Alexander?”
I turn to find Olivia on her feet. Her purse is slung over her shoulder.
She’s dressed, as any woman might be if they were coming to the symphony. She’s wearing a simple black dress, silver hoop earrings and black heels. My hands braided her hair.
I did that after our shower this morning before I took her to work.
“Yes?” I ask as I approach her.
“Is it always that beautiful?” Her hand flutters over the center of her chest. “Am I supposed to feel it in here?”
I rest my hand over hers. “If I’m playing it correctly, yes.”
“I had no idea.” Tears well in her eyes. “You’re so talented.”
I swallow, my emotions warring with each other. I want to kiss her, hold her, take her to my office and fuck her. I want all of it.
“Thank you,” I say simply.
She extends her hands, taking mine. “It’s incredible how much emotion comes through the music. You do all of that with your hands.”
I bring her hands to my lips, kissing each of her fingers. “Your hands convey your emotions too.”
She tries to tug her hands free, but I hold fast to them, resting my lips against them.
“You speak with your hands.” I smile wryly. “I don’t think you’re aware of it, but they move with your words. It’s fascinating.”
Her brow furrows, her nose scrunching up. “I don’t do that.”
I drop her hands. “You do.”
“I don’t.” Her hand swings in the air.
I stop it in place with my fingers on her wrist. “Point proven. You’re unaware of it. That’s why I love it.”
Her gaze falls to the floor. “Where to now?”
“You’re hungry.” It’s not a question. I met her here at six. Unless she ate dinner at five, she’s ready for a meal.
“Famished.” Her hand rubs her belly.
It’s another perfect example of her expressing herself without noticing it.
“I take it pizza is still off the table?”
